The Witch of Cologne

‘As neutral observers we may act as a diplomatic bridge between the guilds and the city council. Your grace, it is our duty to find a way of appeasement, by appointing a few who have won their influence through their trade not their blood,’ Detlef continues.

‘Cousin, those who have power will not give it up without force.’

‘Discontent is rising like the North Sea, one day it will burst it

s dam. Let me go to the mayors, I can be the unofficial spokesperson for Gülich—’

‘You shall be no such thing! As a member of the cathedral council you have no right to intervene in civil matters! Enough. We are to sext.’

Heinrich stands and sweeps out of the room, followed by the others. Detlef stays sitting, staring down at the ledger as if trying to find within it a meditation to calm his frustration.

As the archbishop strides angrily down the stone corridor past archway after archway, he turns to the panting minister who struggles to keep abreast.

‘My dear von Fürstenberg, I think perhaps it is time I abandoned the indulgence of familial love. I shall leave to you the means of disposal.’

The small but ornate banquet hall has remnants still of its medieval heyday: the walls are hung with rich tapestries depicting the triumphs of the trading guilds and a variety of more recent military victories from the Great War, and several Oriental statues—Crusades bounty—adorn the corners of the chamber. A small ensemble of musicians, a flautist, lute player and harpsichordist, perform on an upper balcony while below some twenty guests sit around a long ebony table covered with half-eaten dishes. A suckling pig dominates one end of the table while a stuffed swan accompanied by a flotilla of roasted ducks presides at the other.

The banner of the garment-makers—a shield divided into four showing a three-tiered tower alternating with an oak tree—dangles from the balustrade. Peter Ter Lahn von Lennep stands at the head of the long table, a wine glass in hand.

‘It is my honour as president of the guild to usher in our one hundred and fiftieth anniversary! May the guild reign profitably for many more centuries!’

The merchant takes his chair as the audience, his peers and their wives, bang the table with their goblets in approval. Detlef, his clerical robe a stark contrast to the brightly coloured gowns of the women and the rich velvets, embroidered waistcoats and wide ruffled collars of the men, sits on one side of the merchant. Opposite is Birgit, in black taffeta for her dead sister.

Radiating a certain smugness, Peter Ter Lahn von Lennep turns to Detlef.

‘Four invitations, Canon, and you refused all of them. Have we fallen out of favour?’

‘Forgive me. I have been otherwise occupied.’

The merchant glances at his wife. He has noticed a certain remoteness between Birgit and her confessor and speculates on the nature of their argument. Damn Birgit’s pique, he has business with the man whether his lady approves or not, the pragmatic merchant concludes. Covering his irritation he turns to the canon.

‘In that case we are honoured to have such a busy cleric at our banquet. But pray illuminate me, I have heard rumours that your distraction is of a secular nature?’

Startled, Detlef glances at Birgit—could she have guessed? He has experienced such transformation he is convinced it is as obvious as a stigma on his forehead. But Birgit, her eyes fastened on the plate before her, refuses to look up. The merchant again wonders why his wife is being so cold.

‘With a certain ribbon merchant?’

Detlef’s relief causes him to speak more quickly than he had intended. ‘Nikolaus Gülich has genuine grievances.’

‘If he has a grievance he should appeal to the city council, not involve the cathedral. Or are you thinking of giving up the cloth?’

‘I have no such intention.’

‘I spoke in jest. However I am most displeased that you have become involved in Gülich’s petty complaints. There are many in this city who have contributed to the young man’s success—his father was a mere journeyman, they say he wasn’t even a Cologner. His complaint is poor thanks to a system which I personally believe has worked successfully for many centuries.’

‘What about the weavers’ rebellion and then your very own bürgers’ revolt in 1482, when they stormed the town hall? The history of this city is built on challenging nepotism.’

Several of the merchants turn at the sound of Detlef’s raised voice. Ter Lahn von Lennep, embarrassed, signals to the musicians to begin the quadrille as Birgit lifts her eyes for the first time that evening.

‘The good canon is a passionate man. It is a weakness you must forgive, husband.’

‘If he is passionate then he must respect loyalty also. He has too many enemies to afford to make new ones amongst his friends.’

A shadow falls across the merchant’s normally placid face. He plays with a ball of dough between his fingers then crushes it.

‘Dance with my wife, Canon. She is in mourning but it would be seemly for her to dance with her confessor.’

Reluctantly Detlef offers Birgit his arm. Her wrist under the black satin feels frail and he guesses she has lost weight through grieving.